


Lets talk about Alexandria

by GodOfWar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale tries to fix things, Crowley is too soft for his own good, Hurt, It was supposed to be fluff, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, They both need a Hug, as you see it didn't work out, i wrote it instead of sleeping, it's not really as horrible as it sounds, threat of smiting, whole lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfWar/pseuds/GodOfWar
Summary: Alexandria burns. And so does the angel, but it's a different kind of fire.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Lets talk about Alexandria

Aziraphale wasn't there when Library of Alexandria cased to be a library and became a smoking rubble full of floating singed sheets of priceless history. He had arrived only days after hearing the news and for the first time in his life let his tears fall. There was nothing for him to do, no miracle to turn back time and save the books and all those people who died when the fire spread.

He should help. He should spread hope. Should walk through those streets and whisper 'do not despair for Lord loves you'…what was few books compared to that?

A lot. Enough to make an angel turn on his heel and walk away, stalking for the obvious, even in this despairing place, demonic presence.

He would have his answers. And if he didn't like them, then maybe he will try to see what Sandalphon saw in all that deplorable sport of demon smiting. Who knows, maybe it will help with unidentified emotions bubbling in his stomach?

The house was a nice one. Clean. Taken care of. Far too pretty for the lair of evil. It held the quiet tranquility that others he passed didn't. Rather grumpy looking cat slept on the roof. It opened one orange eye at him and then closed it, grey fluffy tail hiding his face, uninterested. 

Cats rarely were.

He knocked, as it was only polite thing to do. Something thumped, a rather hollow sound with a strange echo. A louder thump…door perhaps? Quiet patter of feet on the floor. Finally the demon emerged, in all his dubious glory, squinting at the glare of the afternoon sun. It smiled. 

The smile froze on its face when Aziraphale's hand convulsed upon its throat, when the tips of its naked toes didn't reach the ground, when it forgot it didn't need to breath and started chocking in panic, limbs flying with no coordination. It moaned. Then whimpered, dangling uselessly in angel's grasp. It wasn't prepared for attack, if it was Aziraphale would not win this easily, maybe not win at all. But it wasn't prepared, it tried to greet him, it tried to gloat radiating smugness from every pore of its disfigured spirit. So it failed to see that he was not in a gaming mood. 

This easy victory did not bring him satisfaction.

Demon didn't fought back. It's yellow eyes, wide with confusion, peered from under the long tangled mess of rich dark red hair, hands finally limp, resting on his forearm. It moaned pitifully again, and then once more, until Aziraphale realize that it was trying to speak. He squeezed its throat harder and then threw it onto the table. He heard it shatter, a long limbed body lay on the other side of it, dizzy and weak. His hands glowed and it felt right, it felt right to stand over that pathetic lump of flesh full of evil and spite and let his fingers splay in the air, ready to rain down heavenly retribution for its committed wrongs.

It screamed. It slunk away, hands and knees, curled itself up in a corner, searching for the dark hence it came from. Aziraphale chased it, head full of glory, palms soaked in grace. 

It burned.

And screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

"Aziraphale!" 

It echoed in his mind like a dull sound of the gong. Strange that. Where was he?

He blinked, vision hazy at the edges, his head heavy and he tipped slightly forward, putting his unusually glowing hand on the wall and nearly tripping over something at his feet. He looked down. 

There was a person curled up in a tightest possible way in the corner. Familiar tresses spilling over bowed shoulders, body trembling, full of tension. Scared. Hiding.

Aziraphale turns his head around to deny his only theory and finds nothing. There is only Crowley panting in fear, trying to make himself look small and succeeding and Aziraphale looming over him, still warm from the way his power bloomed in his corporal body.

He falls on his knees.

And waits.

He nearly erased from existence the only creature whose company he wanted.

He had nearly killed his only…

Crowley moved. Slowly. His arms slid down from where they were bracketing his head. Large yellow eyes looked at him. Weary. Pained. Scared. Worse of all…resigned. He slumps against the wall, bone tired, trailing every single twitch of Aziraphale's body.

Waiting.

…………

It's three weeks after the Apocalypse and Aziraphale is thumbing the only book he owned that survived the burning of _ The Library_. It survived, with nearly six hundred others in safety of Crowley's rooms while the rest burned. Saved straight from hellfire, right under Hastur's nose. 

And what a beautiful payment Crowley got for his chivalry.

He puts the book away, carefully, even when it was a very long time since it was held by anything other then a miracle. He rests his hand there, letting himself remember, stomach twisting in shame. He swallows. 

Crowley waited for too many years for too many things that should have been his for years.

Maybe…

No, no maybe. It was time. It was time to finally start paying all those unacknowledged debts. To start giving instead of always waiting and taking what is offered with non committed _yesbutno_, try next time. He needed to fix this, this six thousand years of biting the outstretched hand, of accusations, of all those hurtful malignant words.

He hoped, as only an angel with a mission could, that Crowley will let him.

Only way to find out.

"Darling?", Aziraphale pressed his ear closer to the phone, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking as hard as his hands were. "Can you come by? I have something to give you... Yes. Yes I think you will like that...Yes I will wait for you, take however long you need."


End file.
